"And how did it prosper him?"
"I don't know. I got an acknowledgment from him of its receipt—just a line. I believe I can repeat the words, 'Dear Simon, my best thanks to you for what has now come safe to hand. Will write by next mail.' The next mail, however, brought me nothing, nor the next, nor the next. After that came a letter, dated New York; in it he said he had left Boston, and would give me particulars later. They have never come."
"That's strange. How do you account for it?"
Sir Simon did not answer for a minute. "I think the projected enterprise failed," he said at length; "and that Robert Trace lost his own money and mine too. I think he is trying to redeem his position in a measure before he writes and confesses to the failure. It is no good reason for maintaining silence; but Robert Trace always was sensitive on the subject of pecuniary losses, especially of his own. I suppose the Americans were more clever than he, and took him in, and he does not like to confess it."
"What are you going to do with Raymond?" questioned Mr. Loftus.
"I don't know. I shall be in a dilemma over it, unless we speedily hear from his father. Should he gain the Orville prize he will go to the university; but as to what he is to be—of course it lies with his father to decide. I propose business to him—any sort he'd like; but he turns his nose up at it, just as disdainfully as Mr. Bertie could do."
Mr. Loftus smiled. "Bertie wants to read for the Bar but I fear it will be up-hill work. He—there's the fine lad that saved me from stumbling," he broke off, as Paradyne and another shot across the sands. "You did not tell me who he was. He has a nice face."
"I'll tell you if you like; but your prejudices will rise up in arms like so many bristles. That's young Paradyne."
"Paradyne! Not Arthur Paradyne's son?"
"It is."